On one of my restless nights, I had a friend, a relatively new friend; insist I am not as damaged as I think I am, rubbing my back and willing me to calm down and sleep. This got me thinking. Is it all in my head? Mental illness, they say, is in ones head; but I can’t help but think I have fabricated the symptoms of depression or anxiety, or my super destructive behaviour. Of course, there it is again, the self-doubt that eats away and tells me I am not good enough, that I am just fabricating the situation in my head to gain sympathy.

But in reality; why would I do that? Who would want their friends to see them crying, struggling to breathe and fighting a ridiculous mental battle? Sometimes, it is necessary, but for me, it happens way too often.

Maybe thats the reality, im screaming out for help but can’t see the symptoms within myself, maybe thats it, my subconscious trigger.

I am very well known for self-diagnosing. I did have it once, Anxiety, and remnants still remain. It has this funny way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it, for me, always, when it is going to be the most damaging or incredibly inconvenient, when I am at the gym, at work, or out on the town. Unfortunately, all of these have happened. Today really got to me. The pressure of my job, the pressure that I am just not good enough, not skinny enough, not healthy enough. In my panicky, tears falling out of my face mode, I realized that all it takes is someone to calm me down. Someone, with a little understanding, someone that knows how it feels, to tell you everything will be ok. This is what I struggle with. It helps, when someone can grab my shoulders and comfort me, bring me back to earth when I am definitely not here. On a day that challenged my will in many ways, I need to thank my manager, for today, being that person, whether she understood or not, whether she knew HOW MUCH I appreciated it, and needed it, or not. With all the right indicators to go completely off the rails, she pulled me in, and brought me back to the person I normally am. Rarely, people understand how desperately I appreciate their help when I am mid anxiety, and may even not want it at the time. I hope they can start to understand that I don’t do it because I want to, I don’t think; but someone being able to bring me back, is everything to me.

Trudging home after work to my apartment and flopping down on the couch, I looked at my housemate, my best friend, and gave myself permission to finally relax. ‘Want to do the groceries?’ she questioned me. No, I didn’t really, but I guess i couldn’t tell her that. A girl’s gotta eat after all. As we headed out the door in a frenzy of jangling keys, dropped wallets and chattering voices, the setting sun shined through the window and into our eyes. Sliding my sunglasses over my fringe to settle on the bridge of my nose, I couldn’t help but to think about how much I loved the sun. We drove to the local grocery store as I dreamed of the beach, the waves, the sun and the imminent wind, whipping my legs, leaving them dry and burnt. After fighting over the grocery load for way too long, eventually we made our way home, procrastinating from unpacking once we got there. After raiding the fridge for cheese and biscuits we flopped on the couch once again, throwing on a movie and enjoying the last rays of sun as they shined through the open curtains. Glancing at the clock, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that it was dark. At 5pm, the sun was gone from our sky.

I am glad, and thankful, to be living in the southern Hemisphere. But not glad, nor thankful, to be dreaming of the warmth of the beach on the shortest day of the year.

I lost my father young. I was not yet 14, and it wasn’t something I knew how to deal with, I still don’t think i know how to deal with it.

He was killed. A fatal accident involving a train, while he was at work. At 5.48am. On a Monday. My first day of my third term of my second year at high school. Safe to say I didn’t go to school that day. I didn’t go for a while, but i have no idea how long it was. I just remember being dreamy, not ready to go back, writing ‘Dad I Miss you’ on every piece of writing equipment and every book I had. I think it was a Friday. Or maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know.

Sometimes it feels like time has moved on so much that its easy to pretend it didn’t happen, easy to pretend I don’t have this pain, memories of my mother screaming and crumbling to the floor or of my grandpa squeezing me on the shoulder telling me what a great bloke my Dad was. I knew it of course, but until then it hadn’t hit me. Not until he said those words, about 6 hours after the incident. Still, I was in denial for a long time. A year, at least, probably longer. There are some nights I can almost smell him, if i think hard enough about his voice, his moves, the way I felt wrapped up in his massive bear hugs or how he would sit on the edge of my bed before i fell asleep, rubbing my back if i couldn’t sleep or chatting aimlessly about all the things I was going to do with my life; how I would travel, what I would see and what I would do while I was where I wanted to go. I am glad the last words we spoke were ‘I Love You, see you soon.’ I will see you soon, and whenever I close my eyes I can see you too, Dad.

I am a strong believer of you will never know, how someone feels until you have been through a similar experience. Especially with grief. It somehow manages to encompass you, grief will control your feelings, your thoughts, your attitudes, your friendships. Losses also come with side effects: anxiety, depression, bulimia, insomnia; unfortunately there’s nothing on that list I haven’t had.

So, briefly, 6 years, 10 months, and 10 days on from the death of my father I am far from healed. I am on my way. I have accepted, said my last goodbyes and began to live a normal life without him. Our family is starting to re-build. I am slowly starting to re-build. On a night that I am riddled with the insomnia and anxiety side effects of my life-changing loss I remember. I remember the love of my father, how he would do anything he could for my mother, brother and myself, after all: he lost his life doing his duty to the family, and I will love him forever for that; and spend my life in pursuit of proving it was worth it, for everything I have now.

I can feel the heat of the sun beating down on my back. As I roll over, open my eyes and stretch my arms above my head I cannot help but exhale-happily, loudly. I look over at you, sleeping so innocently, shirtless, and feel the tension rise in my throat as I ponder everything you are to me, everything we are. As I run my fingers down your spine you slowly stir, roll over and open your eyes, giving me that adoring look that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. “Good morning’, I whisper, hardly expecting you to respond. You raise your arm, pulling me closer and kissing the top of my head. As you tilt my chin and kiss me, hard, I know I have found everything I have ever needed, ever wanted, in you. Good morning.

For even longer I have let myself been held back the expectations of not others, as it would seem, but those I unfairly throw upon myself. I am not funny. My writing is not entertaining. Don’t write; who would want to read that?

No more. No more self-pity and no more self doubt. I am the bird. I do not claim to have all the answers, however I, like all do have my story to tell. I am incredibly lucky, incredibly blessed, more so than I ever thought I would be, with incredible people and opportunities in my life; I hope to share my story with both these friends and anyone else whom would take pleasure in reading.

Hopefully this will serve as a much-needed road to self-discovery. I am on a constant mission to better myself; I will do s through blogging, through sharing my experiences, having something to look back on t the end of the year and know that for all the times I was angry, smiling, laughing or crying, that I had a reason and I have learnt from that experience.

Who knows, maybe one day I will be brave enough to study journalism; not letting my fear of being a bad writer get in the way.